


Burning Lilies

by Kirkwallgirl



Series: Freckles and Feathers [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Vandalism, background hawke / anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirkwallgirl/pseuds/Kirkwallgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the anniversary of the end of the horrible murders of several women in Kirkwall, and Aveline has stumbled on reports of a strange crime. She has a pretty good idea about who the culprit definitely isn't. >__> *wink*</p><p>Set a year after the "All that Remains" quest in Dragon Age 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Lilies

**Author's Note:**

> This probably shouldn't strictly speaking be a part of "Freckles and Feathers" but it might as well be - it's Jay Hawke, and at this point of the story Hawke x Anders is a thing. :) This was an attempt at touching more on the more serious and plot-related parts of Jay Hawke's life, and his relationships with the rest of the Kirkwall gang.

There was a knock on the door in the afternoon - too soon for it to be Anders returning from the clinic, and too early for Bodahn to come calling him for dinner. Hawke thought about not answering because he didn’t feel at all like entertaining visitors, or even his friends, but then Aveline called him softly through the bedroom door and Hawke was forced to tear his eyes away from the papers he was pretending to be filling in front of him.

"Jay,“ she said - not Hawke - which is what she tended to do when they were alone, even if she switched effortlessly to Hawke when they were around their other friends.

Jay. Like family.

"Come in, Aveline,” he called, and cleared his throat, trying to swallow or spit out the lump in his throat. He didn’t turn to face the opening door. He didn’t want Aveline to see the red in his eyes and the swelling of his eyelids. She would know either way - she tended to know - but Hawke didn’t have the strength to meet her eyes, not now. Not yet.

It was the first anniversary of his Mother’s death, and the memory clawed at his chest, fresher and rawer than he would have liked. He’d visited the Chantry in the early hours of the morning, when only some bleary-eyed sisters had been there, slowly lighting the candles and not paying him any mind. Perhaps he’d had the look of a man who didn’t want to be disturbed. His hesitant prayers had gone unheard by any living soul, and had left him more unbalanced and uncertain than anything else. Afterwards he had sat a while, unseen, on the flower-decorated Chantry stairs, head in his hands, trying to stop his legs from shaking and breath from catching in his chest because of the sweet smell of the lilies around him. Confused. Sad. Angry.

Aveline knew this, or the essence of it, if not the details - of course she did - but walked in in a comfortable silence anyway, doing the peculiar collected amble she often did when she had something on her mind. Jay could almost see how she looked at the ceiling as though looking for words there, and could certainly imagine the purpose in her countenance.

"Strange reports today,“ she said instead of asking him how he was doing, and Hawke, grateful for it, made a non-committal sound. His heartbeat sped up a little, an uncomfortable stutter deep in his chest. "Someone has burned all the white lilies in front of the Chantry sometime in the early morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Hawke’s eyes fixated on the paper in front of him again, and he wiggled the pen in his hand nervously. He tried not to think of the burn he’d felt in his chest and the fire in his eyes, and how large he had felt striding down the Chantry steps, hands running through the flowers decorating the cold stony building, and what the white petals must have looked like, smouldering, twisting, turning black, and falling into ashes behind him.

"…no,“ he said, looking away when Aveline stopped beside the table, turning to lean her butt against it. He had never been a good liar.

"Good,” Aveline said brightly, and crossed her ankles. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

There was a moment’s silence.

"They put them up to commemorate the end of the murders,“ Hawke said. His voice didn’t sound like his voice in his own ears at all - it was too dragging, too strangled.

"I know.” Aveline sighed heavily, and Hawke could see her slump a little from the corner of his eye. “One of the Mothers told me. I adviced her to find another way to do it if they wish not to keep their flowers - we’re not setting a guard for some flowers, Maker knows we have more important things to do. All things considered they couldn’t have picked anything worse. I’m not sure even I would have wanted to see those flowers there, and I’m not sure what I might have done if y- someone hadn’t gotten there first. The Mothers obviously meant well, but…” She trailed off, sighed again, and when Hawke mustered the strength to look at her, there was a tired set to her brows, and her lips were pressed tightly together.

"Strange to hear you almost condoning a crime,“ Hawke said weakly, and tried a smile that didn’t quite feel right, and quickly faltered. Aveline huffed a laugh, and shook her head.

"Isn’t it?” she asked, and met Hawke’s eyes. Instead of the pity Hawke had feared to see in Aveline’s, there was nothing but melancholy warmth. “I’m not unreasonable, you know.” She pushed herself off the table and straightened her back.

“I know.”

"Good. Well, I have to return to the barracks before someone misses me. I also need to tell my guard to encourage flower merchants to be careful if they want to keep white lilies in stock. I have no patience for clearing out misconceptions if some poor girl gets scared out of her mind because of a poorly thought-out gift… and while I seriously hope that nothing else happens, I also can’t guarantee that there won’t be any fires, either.“ She squeezed Hawke’s shoulder, and the lump in his throat grew.

"Better stick with marigolds?” he managed, and Aveline’s reassuring touch turned into a shove - but she laughed.

"I will never hear the end of that, will I? Take care of yourself, Jay. You know where you’ll find me if you need me.” Aveline shook her head, but her voice had none of her usual indignance.

"Aveline-“ Hawke stood, and meant to say thank you, but instead only a wet, shaky exhale came out. Aveline understood him nevertheless, and pulled him close into a hug.

"I’ve got you, Jay,” Aveline said quietly when Hawke pressed his face into her shoulder and tried to stifle the sobs. “And I miss her, too.”

 


End file.
